The usual forms having been gone through, the body of Samuel Pickwick was soon afterwards confided to the custody of the tipstaff, to be by him taken to the Warden of the Fleet Prison, and there detained until the amount of the damages and costs in the action of Bardell against Pickwick was fully paid and satisfied.
"And that," said Mr.Pickwick, laughing, "will be a very long time.
Sam, call another hackney-coach.Perker, my dear friend, good bye.""I shall go with you, and see you safe there," said Perker.
"Indeed," replied Mr.Pickwick, "I would rather go without any other attendant than Sam.As soon as I get settled, I will write and let you know, and I shall expect you immediately.Until then, good bye."As Mr.Pickwick said this, he got into the coach which had by this time arrived: followed by the tipstaff.Sam having stationed himself on the box, it rolled away.
"A most extraordinary man that!" said Perker, as he stopped to pull on his gloves.
"What a bankrupt he'd make, sir," observed Mr.Lowten, who was standing near."How he would bother the commissioners! He'd set 'em at defiance if they talked of committing him, sir."The attorney did not appear very much delighted with his clerk's professional estimate of Mr.Pickwick's character, for he walked away without deigning any reply.
The hackney-coach jolted along Fleet Street, as hackney-coaches usually do.The horses "went better," the driver said, when they had anything before them (they must have gone at a most extraordinary pace when there was nothing), and so the vehicle kept behind a cart; when the cart stopped, it stopped;and when the cart went on again, it did the same.Mr.Pickwick sat opposite the tipstaff; and the tipstaff sat with his hat between his knees, whistling a tune, and looking out of the coach window.
Time performs wonders.By the powerful old gentleman's aid, even a hackney-coach gets over half a mile of ground.They stopped at length, and Mr.Pickwick alighted at the gate of the Fleet.
The tipstaff, looking over his shoulder to see that his charge was following close at his heels, preceded Mr.Pickwick into the prison; turning to the left, after they had entered, they passed through an open door into a lobby from which a heavy gate: opposite to that by which they had entered, and which was guarded by a stout turnkey with the key in his hand: led at once into the interior of the prison.
Here they stopped, while the tipstaff delivered his papers; and here Mr.Pickwick was apprised that he would remain, until he had undergone the ceremony, known to the initiated as "sitting for your portrait.""Sitting for my portrait!" said Mr.Pickwick.
"Having your likeness taken, sir," replied the stout turnkey."We're capital hands at likenesses here.Take 'em in no time, and always exact.
Walk in, sir, and make yourself at home."Mr.Pickwick complied with the invitation, and sat himself down: when Mr.Weller, who stationed himself at the back of the chair, whispered that the sitting was merely another term for undergoing an inspection by the different turnkeys, in order that they might know prisoners from visitors.
"Well, Sam," said Mr.Pickwick, "then I wish the artists would come.
This is rather a public place."
"They vont be long, sir, I des-say," replied Sam."There's a Dutch clock, sir.""So I see," observed Mr.Pickwick.
"And a bird-cage, sir," says Sam."Veels vithin veels, a prison in a prison.Ain't it, sir?"As Mr.Weller made this philosophical remark, Mr.Pickwick was aware that his sitting had commened.The stout turnkey, having been relieved from the lock, sat down, and looked at him carelessly, from time to time, while a long thin man who had relieved him, thrust his hands beneath his coat-tails, and planting himself opposite, took a good long view of him.
A third rather surly-looking gentleman: who had apparently been disturbed at his tea, for he was disposing of the last remnant of a crust and butter when he came in: stationed himself close to Mr.Pickwick; and, resting his hands on his hips, inspected him narrowly; while two others mixed with the group, and studied his features with most intent and thoughtful faces.
Mr.Pickwick winced a good deal under the operation, and appeared to sit very uneasily in his chair; but he made no remark to anybody while it was being performed, not even to Sam, who reclined upon the back of the chair, reflecting, partly on the situation of his master, and partly on the great satisfaction it would have afforded him to make a fierce assault upon all the turnkeys there assembled, one after the other, if it were lawful and peaceable so to do.
At length the likeness was completed, and Mr.Pickwick was informed, that he might now proceed into the prison.
"Where am I to sleep to-night?" inquired Mr.Pickwick.
"Why I don't rightly know about to-night," replied the stout turnkey.
"You'll be chummed on somebody tomorrow, and then you'll be all snug and comfortable.The first night's generally rather unsettled, but you'll be set all squares to-morrow."After some discussion, it was discovered that one of the turnkeys had a bed to let, which Mr.Pickwick could have for that night.He gladly agreed to hire it.
"If you'll come with me, I'll show it you at once," said the man."It ain't a large 'un; but it's an out-and-outer to sleep in.This way, sir."They passed through the inner gate, and descended a short flight of steps.The key was turned after them; and Mr.Pickwick found himself, for the first time in his life, within the walls of a debtor's prison.
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